


Rough Tides

by AcrobatElle



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 22:28:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5266136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcrobatElle/pseuds/AcrobatElle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She doesn't leave him for long.</p><p>A follow-up to "Waves." Set immediately post-5x08 in Camelot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rough Tides

She doesn’t leave him for long.

Where would she go, anyway? To her parents, the ones who were perfectly willing to watch him die? To Merlin, with his useless vague proclamations, Merlin who sent her loved ones to retrieve a sword without warning them that the slightest nick from it would be fatal? To Regina, who so quickly and gleefully used the dagger on her?

She has never known rage like this, violent toxic fumes that nearly choke her and sting at her eyes. When she pushes away thoughts of her family she is consumed by visions of ripping out Arthur’s heart, toying with him, digging in her fingernails, not quite squeezing hard enough to crush it, watching him writhe and scream in agony. Of slowly choking the life out of Zelena, watching her turn blue, letting go just before she loses consciousness only to repeat the process again and again, making her beg for death.

She doesn’t try to push those thoughts away, macabre (and delicious) as they are. She doesn’t even feel bad for having them, though she knows she should.

Henry can’t see her like this.

She aimlessly wanders the forest, bloody images swirling in her mind, desperately trying to keep them aimed at the real villains. All the while she can feel Killian within her -- it’s not quite a psychic link, not telepathy, but she can sense his pain from the other side of Camelot, that dark, twisted feeling she’s become so familiar with.

Emma has no explanation for the connection, knows there will be nothing about this in Merlin’s books. She’d like to think they are tethered together by love, not darkness, but Killian’s palpable despair tells her otherwise. This isn’t love. It’s hell.

She half expects Rumplestiltskin to show up, to taunt her and giggle that infuriating giggle and congratulate her on giving in to the darkness. But no, he --

Oh God. _Oh God oh God oh God_.

She teleports to Killian’s side in a flash and finds him crumpled on the beach, hand and wrist covering his ears.

He doesn’t even notice her, his eyes screwed shut as he rocks back-and-forth on the sand.

“Killian -- “

“STOP!” he shouts, his voice anguished and raw and overused. How long has he been screaming at the voice in his head?

“Killian.” She kneels down to him and grabs at his wrists, but he still pays her no heed, lost in his head. “ _Killian_!”

His head snaps up and he regards her with wild eyes. “Emma, you need to get away from me.” His voice is frantic between his shaky gasps. “He keeps telling me to hurt you and I don‘t know how long I can --”

She grabs his face, too hard to be soothing but enough that his eyes clear, just the smallest bit. “You can,” she tells him firmly. “Just look at me, keep your eyes on me. Just listen to me,” she pleads, her thumbs stroking away the dampness on his cheeks. There’s a scratch near the skin of his left ear, clearly from his hook.

He swallows and tilts his head, his voice quieter than she’s ever heard it. “Why did you do this to me?”

There’s no anger in his tone, no judgment. Just pure, childlike confusion.

She swallows down the sob that threatens to tear itself from her throat. “It was the only way to save you. We can -- “

“You should have let me die.” His features harden, but he doesn’t pull away from her. “I don’t _want_ this, Emma! If you knew the things I’ve been thinking -- “

“Revenge? Ripping out hearts? Making people _hurt_?” Her eyes falls closed as she indulges her own thoughts for a moment. “Believe me, I know.”

He leans back out of the reach of her hands, stunned. He looks at her like he’s truly seeing her for the first time, her pale skin, her white hair. “So this is what we are now.” His words are resigned and deadly. “You look different. You sound different.”

“I’m still me, Killian.” She doesn’t know if it’s a lie.

He doesn’t answer, just reaches up with a shaking hand. His fingers are rough on her face, tracing her features with little finesse. His eyes drop as his hand slides down, briefly gripping at the collar of her jacket before settling against her throat. He applies no pressure, just rests his hand against the delicate skin. His touch is cold.

“But I don’t feel like me.”

Once again she feels the swell of power within him, but he doesn’t use magic -- she’s not sure if he even knows how. He stares at his fingers wrapped lightly around her neck, briefly transfixed before his eyes dart to the side, staring at a figure Emma can’t see but knows far too well. His breathing speeds up and his gaze turns back to his hand, his fingers twitching against her skin.

“Swan -- “

“I love you.”

His eyes lift to meet hers and it tears at her soul to see him like this, fighting against the thing he hates most in this world, the fucking physical manifestation of the man he despises clearly taunting him. “And I you,” he manages to get out. He is shaking.

“I couldn’t let you go because I love you too much.” She reaches up and covers his hand with hers. “Can you understand that?’

He nods, a tight, jerky motion.

“You said you’d never stop fighting for us. I need you to do that now.”

He looks to the side again, his breathing ragged. God only knows what Rumple is telling him.

“Don’t listen to him.” She reaches for him again, cradling his face with her palm and forcing him to look at her. “You’re stronger than you think.”

He shakes his head against her hand. “He won’t stop.”

“I can make him stop.” The words come before she can halt them, but she has no desire to take them back.

His breathing is labored as he leans into her palm, understanding dawning on his face when he realizes what she is offering. His eyes darken and his tongue darts over his lower lip, his face still disbelieving but suddenly, definitely, intensely interested.

The drastic shift in his demeanor would alarm Emma if she didn‘t feel it too. The magic inside her dances at the thought, the desire to forget and _fuck_ and indulge.

He surges forward before she can say anything, his lips brutal against her own. She quickly finds herself on her back, the hard lines of his body pressing into hers as he devours her mouth, hot and needy, and it has never been like this with him. His desperation would frighten her but just as she felt his despair, now she feels his love, hot and addictive, pressing deep into her skin.

His tongue is positively _sinful_ against hers and he swallows the little noises she makes but can‘t control, not when his skin suddenly shifts from cold to blazing hot, not when his hips press down into hers like this, digging her further into the sand. He nips at her bottom lip and _pulls_ with his teeth, and she feels like she‘s on fire.

“Get my heart racing, Swan,” he murmurs against her lips before diving in again. Before she can even wonder if he’s going to take her right here on the beach she feels the familiar thrum of magic transporting them. She stumbles when she finds herself still pressed against him but now upright, in some unknown bedroom that doesn’t look anything like Arthur’s castle.

He pulls back from her momentarily, as surprised as she is. “Did you -- ?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

A quick gust of warmth swirls around them and she watches his face when it happens, when he realizes that _he_ is the one making it so. Surprise, confusion, and the briefest flicker of _delight_ crosses his features as he steps into her space.

“I wanted us in the nearest bedroom,” he confesses, his lips roughly playing at hers. “Did I do this?”

“Yes.”

Everything about this is wrong. She knows he wants no part of this even as she feels him throwing a protective barrier around the room, shutting them off to anyone who would dare interrupt them. She shouldn’t feel so damned _proud_ that he’s figured it out so quickly, how to do this, how to make his magic work. But he’s making it work for _them_ , so she relishes the feeling as she walks him backwards, not stopping until she’s pinned him against the wall.

“Who says we need a bed?” She nips at his ear and feels him shudder against her. She knows they should talk, figure things out, but he is here and warm and _alive_ in her arms, deliciously responsive as she kneels before him, shoving his robes aside and working at the button on his pants.

She hardly has a moment to fight with his clothing when it suddenly disappears under her hands. She glances up when she realizes he is gloriously naked, and it takes her a moment to see that she’s in the same state.

He blinks down at her in surprise and she watches his face as he realizes what he’s done. His brow furrows and beneath the haze of lust she can feel _fear_ creeping into him, an ugly desperate thing threatening to poison the moment.

“Emma -- “

“Impatient, aren’t you?” she asks, not waiting for his response as she takes him in her hand, his deep-seated groan vibrating against her nerves.

“I’m always impatient when it comes to -- _fuck_ \-- when it comes to you.” His voice falters when she swallows him down, pressing him hard against the wall. His knees buckle as her lips drag across his cock and he buries his hand in her hair, wrenching through the braid and the bun as he curls his fingers against the back of her skull. She can feel his fear melting away, swallowed up in his need to _want_ and _have_ and _take take take_.

Her hands push roughly at his hips, pinning him to the wall as she works him over, savoring the heavy weight of him on her tongue. She’s never done this for him before and she catalogues his reactions as she toys with him, learning what makes his hips stutter and his breath catch in his throat. She holds her breath and presses in as far as she can, her nose tickling against his skin as she swallows around him.

He’s delicious like this, salty and vulnerable and powerful, his hips pressing against her mouth in restless little circles.

His hand tightens in her hair, pulling her bun even looser as her wrenches her off him. “Not like that, love,” he murmurs, and any illusions she had about their encounter are shattered when he whirls her around and shoves her against the wall, hand and hook sliding against her ass and lifting her up with inhuman strength.

She wraps her legs around the small of his back and holds her breath, gripping hard at his shoulders. “How do you want it?” she asks, her voice a traitorous, breathy sigh.

“Just like this,” he growls, shifting her hips just enough to bury himself in her, and _fuck_ , she’s stretched to her breaking point impaled on him like this, one leg dropping down but not holding her weight, her toes scratching against the floor.

It’s so different from the last time they did this. The last time, he was careful and cherishing. The last time, he pressed his forehead to hers and told her he loved her. The last time he was gentle and attentive, her comfort more important than his release.

Now he drives into her without a thought and she throws her head back against the wall, the hot drag of him inside her a rough contrast to the sweet devotion she‘s come to know. “Fucking hell,” he mutters against her skin, biting down as he thrusts harder, the grain of the wall scraping harshly at her back.

It’s not making love, it’s _fucking_ , pure and simple.

She can’t find it in her to be disappointed, not when his need is so tangible, wrapping itself around her and pulling her in close. Not when she can feel his single-minded focus pushing away his pain. She claws at his back and rides it out, whispering filthy encouragements in his ear while he pushes and uses and takes.

All the while their magic swirls around them, hot breezes and sparks dancing over their skin. She hardly realizes what she’s doing when she flattens her palm against his back, reaching inside herself and _pushing_ , letting him feel her own arousal, sharing every burst of fire across her nerves as he pushes into her.

She can feel the exact moment it hits him, his grip faltering as he presses her harder into the wall with a broken groan. “ _Fuck_ , Emma.”

She can’t respond because whatever connection she’s opened works both ways. She shudders in his arms as it floods into her, the heat running up his spine crawling into her and making her blood boil. She goes slack against him but he holds her up easily, like she is weightless, and she closes her eyes and lets herself drown.

His mouth finds hers and _there_ he is, his tongue sweeping into her and he slows his hips to match the motion of it, not quite thrusting as he stays buried to the hilt, rolling himself into her in languid little circles. They push and pull against each other through their two points of connection, taking and giving and sharing the pleasure of it.

There’s no frantic buildup to her release, just a slow rolling tide of satisfaction multiplied by his own. He swallows down her moan as it washes over her and bites at her lip when it floods into him, catching him by surprise. It makes him come with a startled gasp, pulsing hot inside her while she clenches around him and _fuck_ , the feeling prolongs her own orgasm, stretching it out and swelling in her until she feels ready to burst.

They slide down to the floor in a tangle of exhausted limbs and sticky skin. She can feel him shiver against her when their connection dissolves and he grips at her tightly, clearly feeling the loss. She presses her nose against his throat, threading shaky fingers through his hair.

She wants nothing more than to crawl into bed with him and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. A fresh pang of guilt washes over her as she strokes at his hair, his face, anything she can reach.

“Is he gone?” she finally asks, once their breathing slows.

He nods against her hands. “He is.”

Her relief is short-lived when she realizes he’s not finished speaking.

“For now.”

She can feel it creeping up in him again, fear and hesitation clouding his words.

“We can beat this, Killian.” Once again, she doesn‘t know if it‘s a lie.

He swallows hard and nods, not meeting her eyes, taking far too long to answer.

“Right.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at acrobat-elle.tumblr.com. Come say hi!


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